Five Days Without John Watson
by RainFlower3004
Summary: In which Sherlock says something a bit not good, has a row with John, gets injured, gallivants around London solving cases, falls asleep while experimenting and John leaves. Well, but not necessarily in that order.
1. A Typical Sherlock Send-off

_Summary: In which Sherlock says something a bit not good, has a row with John, injures himself, gallivants around London solving cases, falls asleep while experimenting and John leaves. Well, but not necessarily in that order._

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**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock BBC or any of its awesome characters. Wish I did though. **

**Author's Note: **Hey guys, I've been watching the awesome series 'Sherlock BBC' recently and read a couple of pretty great stories here so I thought I'd give this fandom a shot. It's probably not that great but just give it a chance? Sorry for any errors (grammatical in nature or about the characters) especially since I beta-ed this myself and I'm not that familiar with this fandom. But I guess it's the enthusiasm and love for the show that counts? Okay, shan't bore you all with more of my ranting so... On with the story!

_Update: Hey again. Thanks for the reviews and special thanks to tarcy for pointing out that Harry is a lesbian. Gosh, I have no idea how I could miss that out (stupid, stupid, stupid). Anyway, I'd make the necessary changes. Thanks again:) _

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_**Chapter 1**_

**A Typical Sherlock Send-off**

Most normal people have the shrill ringing of their alarm clocks to wake them up and most of the time, if the alarm is not malfunctioning, that is, it rings just when you want it to. However, several weeks into staying in the same flat as Sherlock, John realised that he probably would not fit under the category of 'most normal people' in that aspect. After all, not everyone had discordant violin notes his flatmate deemed as music wake them up, sometimes even at ungodly hours.

John groaned, covering his ears with fistfuls of his pillow.

"Sherlock! Can you just stop bloody playing for a minute?"

Normally, John wouldn't have minded. Correction: He'd just be mildly exasperated at yet another of his flatmate's annoying quirks and maybe just rant a little at Sherlock as he sipped his tea (not that it would have had any effect on Sherlock, mind you). He had actually grown rather used to his unconventional wake-up call. However, he had planned on sleeping in today as he wasn't particularly looking forward to leaving 221b Baker Street in order to visit his sister. His sister had texted him a couple of days ago, saying that they hadn't met up since last year and that not seeing your sibling for a year was "a bit not good", so why not he come over and stay at her place for a couple of days so they could catch up? Apparently, Harry had rather missed his company though John suspected that she probably just needed someone to listen to her woes. John was not going to deny his sister this little bit of comfort though, seeing as how she had just gone through a particularly rough time recently, having broken up with her girlfriend and lost her job.

Sherlock shall just have to survive on his own for a couple of days then. It's a wonder the man had managed to not kill himself or endanger anyone else in the past, back when he lived by himself, John thought with a wry smile.

Resigned to the fact that he probably would not be getting any more sleep at this rate, he quickly dressed and washed up.

Grabbing his small suitcase (filled with a few sets of clean clothing and some necessities), John trudged out of his bedroom, ignoring the nagging pain in his leg.

"Sherlock, I'd be going to —"

"Your sister's house for a couple of days," Sherlock completed in a disinterested voice as he continued plucking away at his violin such that it screeched and wailed in a manner very similar to that of a dying cat.

"Yes and I'm not even going to ask how you knew that," John replied irritably, scrubbing a hand down his face tiredly. "Well, anyway, as I was saying, she texted me a couple of days ago, asking if I could come visit her." John quickly interjected before Sherlock could shoot off his string of rapid-fire deductions.

"Yes, yes, I saw her text in your phone," Sherlock responded in a terse voice, pausing in his 'music-making' by the window to gesture with his violin impatiently.

"Wait, you saw the text? How the hell did you get hold of my phone? Didn't I tell you to stop stealing my things?"

Still plucking away at his violin, Sherlock turned around, raising an eyebrow as he spoke, "It's not stealing if I gave it back. I put it on your bedside table last night, if you're interested to know."

John glowered slightly at Sherlock, "You broke into my room while I'm sleeping."

Sherlock barreled on, unconcerned, "Anyway, seeing as how you're still not explaining your reason for visiting her, I shall do it for you."

"Sherlock."

"Evidently, she had been through some hard times lately. She obviously needs a listening ear to spill her woes to and who better for such a role than her brother, whom she hadn't seen in a year? Likely, she needs someone around so she doesn't feel all alone in her house. Is she afraid of being alone, I wonder? Perhaps that's why she doesn't feel good being in her house all by herself but then how did she cope back when she just moved out, with no one but her in her apartment? She had most likely gone drinking and partying with friends late into the night to keep her mind off of it but didn't consider how disappointed her brother might be in her less than savoury late-night habits."

"Sherlock."

"You, as the responsible brother, agreed, though I can tell it was with some reluctance, seeing as how you've decided to sleep in today, of all days, and got irritated by my violin-playing which you haven't since the twenty-third day you moved in with me. You've probably grown rather used to this manner of waking up and you wake up earlier by yourself most of the time anyway, ergo, my point about sleeping in being unusual and most likely the reason for prolonging the time till the visit to your sister."

"Sherlock!"

"Of course, she could go out and stay at a friend's but it's embarrassing for her since she not only was dumped by her girlfriend, but lost her job as well. How did she lose her job then? Now that is not hard to figure out. Knowing how often she went partying and drinking, it wouldn't have taken long for some unsavoury pictures of her to go online and be seen by her superiors, or maybe she often couldn't concentrate on her job due to the late hours she kept so —"

By this point of time, John was shooting Sherlock a heated glare and was prepared to throttle the man if need be. A wave of white-hot anger shot through him. Enough was enough. This was his sister they were talking about and Sherlock was just being the bloody insensitive git that he was, tearing apart her character and her life with such ease.

"Sherlock, can you just bloody shut up now? Yes, your deductions are brilliant, wonderful and evidently so amazing but have you ever considered how the person being bombarded with them could be feeling? You're talking about my sister here, not some random passer-by on the street that had been unfortunate enough to catch your attention! So instead of your usual cold, uncaring words, can you actually make an effort to be more sensitive?"

The violin notes stopped abruptly. Sherlock seemed a little stunned at John's sudden outburst and God, was that actual hurt in his expression? John didn't get the chance to ascertain it, for a shutter seemed to have been pulled over Sherlock's face. A guarded, emotionless expression was carefully held in place.

"Sherlock, I... I didn't mean for it to come out that way —"

"Hypocrisy doesn't become you, John. You're the one who is leaving and you're calling me cold and uncaring?" Sherlock shot back with a sneer.

"Oh, so this is what it's about! My world doesn't simply revolve around you! Can't you survive being alone for five days?"

With that, John grabbed his suitcase and marched out of the flat, slamming the door behind him loudly.

Staring at the space where one John Watson had been standing moments ago, Sherlock pursed his lips and muttered under his breath.

"I don't quite believe I can."

And then, he picked up his violin and bow and proceeded to play his violin with murderous vigour for the next few hours, trying to push those scathing words to the back of his mind.

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Well, that's the end of chapter 1. Hope you guys have enjoyed my first (and hopefully not too poor or shoddy) attempt at writing for the Sherlock BBC fandom. Oh, and please remember to review? I'd really appreciate some comments on how to improve. Besides, I think the review button is feeling a little unused? *winkwinknudgenudge*


	2. Of Boredom (and Missing John)

_Summary: In which Sherlock says something a bit not good, has a row with John, injures himself, gallivants around London solving cases, falls asleep while experimenting and John leaves. Well, but not necessarily in that order._

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**Disclaimer: I ****do**** not own Sherlock BBC or any of its characters. As much as I wish I do, sadly I d**_**on't. **  
_

**Author's Note: **Hey, I'm back with the second chapter of 'Five Days Without John Watson'. I really do hope I managed to make the characters in-character (especially Sherlock, frankly he is quite hard to write!). I think I might take some time with uploading chapter three since there will *hopefully* be more action in the next chapter. Anyway, enough of my ranting. On with the story!

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**_Chapter 2_**

**Of Boredom (and Missing John)**

Bloody sunlight, thought Sherlock, lifting his arm in a bid to shield himself from the sunlight streaming in steadily through the window as he all but tumbled to floor. The carpeted floor. He stopped short. His bedroom floor wasn't carpeted. But that would mean he was in the living room, probably on the couch.

Brilliant deduction, he thought to himself sarcastically.

He huffed irritably as he picked himself off the ground. He detested mornings. It always made his brain all sluggish and soupy. Soupy? How the hell did such a word even manage to get into his brain? He immediately chucked the useless word from the data bank that was his brain. Can't have such utter rubbish clogging up his mind palace after all. Probably picked it up from some of those crap television shows John was so terribly fond of or one of those books John left lying around. Speaking of...

"John, a cup of — oh."

Oh.

Right.

John left to visit his sister yesterday. And not exactly in a happy mood either. Yesterday's events flooded back to him and his mood soured considerably. Not that his mood was ever truly pleasant in the morning, unless Lestrade had delivered an interesting case that was potentially worth his time.

"Stupid, stupid," he muttered aloud to himself as he flopped back onto the couch, having seemingly lost all his energy for the day.

He stayed that way for a minute (which was remarkably long considering the extreme boredom his mind was being subjected to) before with a loud exclamation of "Bored!" he leaped up again and began pacing around the room, in a manner very much alike to a caged tiger.

As he paced, he mentally began to dissect the events that happened yesterday which led up to John's extreme vexation and eventually, his departure. Normally, he wouldn't have bothered with petty and trivial things like emotions but this time was different. Different, he thought, because this time, John was angry. And John, for as long as he knew him, never got angry. Well, he did, but it's usually just the why-didn't-you-tell-me-sooner? mild exasperation, or at the very most when he was tired from a day of work, sod-off! kind of annoyance.

He had merely been explaining the reason of John's visit to his sister since John was, as usual, not getting to the point as quickly as Sherlock would have liked. He distinctly remembered describing the late-night habits of John's sister, about her getting dumped and losing her job. The usual, wasn't it? But John had been really upset about that, evidently, by the way he had raised his voice and gestured much more than necessary. And what he'd said, about Sherlock being cold and uncaring and —

Sherlock frowned. He couldn't deny that he had felt something (fine, so maybe just a tiny prickle of hurt) when he had been called insensitive. He had been rather immune to insults and jabs from various people in the past. He had been perfectly fine before he had John as a flat mate. Logically, this meant he'd be perfectly fine even without John. But then, why did he still feel this weird empty feeling inside him?

Sherlock wasn't very happy with where this contemplation was going. Nowhere productive, for sure. He might as well go check on those fingers in the refrigerator; he figured he had left them there long enough to get some results.

* * *

Mrs Hudson's voice floated up from below, "Sherlock? You alright up there?"

Muttering a reply, Sherlock stared at the smiley face painted on the wall, contemplating whether there needs to be a few more holes in it or not. He had finished with his experiment and collated the results which were not exactly very thrilling but he filed that information away anyway. After all, it might prove useful for future cases (which might or might not involve a murderer with a fetish for cutting off fingers of his dead victims).

Oh, but now he was bored. Again.

He had found himself calling out "John, I'm bored!" or "John, a cup of tea if you would!" and several variations that ran along the same line for the past hour, but of course, as said person was not around, no one answered. His only response was the cold emptiness of the flat. On one occasion, he actually got up to make tea but soon returned to his slouched position on the couch when he was greeted by the sight of an empty refrigerator (save for a few packets of stale crackers and a jar of expired beans). Out of milk, as usual. Except this time there was no John to get the milk, no huff of annoyance from John or even a exasperated yell from John for Sherlock to "Get the bloody milk yourself!" because he had gotten the milk for the past few months so it was sure as hell Sherlock's turn this time.

Sherlock sighed. It was truly dull to be all alone in the flat. Utterly boring. Why couldn't Lestrade just hurry up and come with a case already? Of course, he had contemplated bothering John by sending him multiple texts. In the end, he decided not to. He was probably still rather mad at him and anyway, he was sure he could survive at least a day without John. (Although he won't admit it, he was still sore from John's comments. After all, those words held a greater significance coming from his only friend. Not that he'd willingly admit that.)

Hmm... Perhaps he could go to the morgue and see if he could check out any of the newly-arrived dead bodies, maybe even bag a few body parts home. "Boring, already did that yesterday" was supplied by his brain rather unhelpfully.

"What else could I possibly do then?" he all but growled at thin air.

"Sherlock dear, are you talking to yourself? Are you sure everything is fine?"

There was a series of thumps, indicating that Mrs Hudson was making her way up. A few muffled complaints about "that bloody hip again!" later, Mrs Hudson poked her head through the door, peering in at the room that was mostly unlit save for what little light was filtering in through slivers between the drawn curtains. She almost jumped out of her skin when a loud gunshot tore through the room. Evidently, Sherlock had finally decided that the wall needed a few more holes.

A few more gunshots later, Mrs Hudson decided that she had had enough.

"Sherlock! What are you bloody doing to my wall again? Didn't I tell you the last time that any more shooting of my walls and it'll be going into your rent?"

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes but ceased his firing.

"It's not just my rent, Mrs Hudson. It's John's too," he reminded. Gesturing with the gun still in hand, he continued, "Anyway, I'm bored. Life is terribly dull and mundane. What do I have to do to get a case? My mind rebels at stagnation! Give me data, give me work! I'd rather not rot to death in this room simply because there is simply nothing remotely stimulating enough for me to be engaged in."

He let the gun in his hand clatter noisily onto the table next to him and slouched even deeper into the couch (if that were even possible), eyes closed.

"Oh, don't be like that Sherlock, I'm sure a nice murder case will come by and the next thing you know it, you'll be off running about London solving it," came Mrs Hudson's sympathetic reply.

He hummed somewhat disgruntledly in response.

"Anyway, John will be back soon in what, five days' time? Then everything will be back to normal again. "

At this, Sherlock cracked an eye open.

"Four, actually," he said, somewhat absent-mindedly.

"Four…Pardon?"

Sherlock gave a long-suffering sigh before he replied, eyes closed yet again, "Four days, until John returns, not five. But to be more exact, four days, six hours and forty minutes."

Mrs Hudson made a little 'surprised-yet-not-really' noise from the back of her throat as if she had rather expected that Sherlock would keep track of exactly how much time was left till John came back.

"Oh, that's so sweet and endearing of you to keep track of the exact time. You must miss him, then. Well, don't worry; he'll be back soon enough."

Sherlock's eyes flew wide open. What? Now she was assuming he actually indulged in petty sentiments and emotions such as missing someone? That's bloody blasphemy. However, before he could get a chance to rebuke her warped perspective (because Sherlock Holmes simply didn't miss anyone), Mrs Hudson had already rattled on.

"Now, if you'd be needing anything, just call, alright?"

With that, she turned on her heels and walked out of the room.

Halfway through the door, she called over her shoulder, almost as an afterthought, "But remember, I'm not your housekeeper."

* * *

6.30 PM

To: Lestrade

Any interesting cases?

-SH

6.30 PM

To: Lestrade

Dying of boredom here.

-SH

6.31 PM

To: Lestrade

So is there or is there not?

-SH

6.31 PM

To: Lestrade

Are you going to answer me or do I have to come down to the Yard myself?

-SH

6.32 PM

To: Lestrade

Looks like I'd get to insult Anderson and Donovan face-to-face today after all.

-SH

6.37PM

To: Sherlock

Bloody hell. 5 texts in 2 minutes. Really, Sherlock? I was busy just now. And no, there aren't any cases you'd classify as interesting today.

-GL

6.38 PM

To: Lestrade

Finally, someone deigned to grace me with an answer.

-SH

6.38 PM

To: Lestrade

Are you certain there isn't?

-SH

6.40 PM

To: Sherlock

Certain there isn't what?

-GL

6.40 PM

To: Lestrade

Cases, Lestrade, cases! Sometimes I wonder just how you got to be Detective Inspector.

-SH

6.43 PM

To: Sherlock

No need to be insulting. Yes there are cases, but unless bank robberies and petty thefts interest you, then no.

-GL

6.43 PM

To: Lestrade

No interesting murders that have victims with some part of them brutally mutilated?

-SH

6.43 PM

To: Lestrade

No cases of mysteriously vanishing people?

-SH

6.44 PM

To: Lestrade

At this point I'd be happy if there were cases with stolen works of art involved. Or lost glow-in-the-dark pets. Anything!

-SH

6.48 PM

To: Sherlock

Sorry, nope. We've got everything pretty much under control and these cases aren't really bizarre enough to warrant your help. Much.

-GL

6.48 PM

To: Lestrade

When you say under control, I know you mean utterly clueless and desperately in need of help. And is it really that difficult to reply texts faster? One might think you had a finger missing or something along those lines.

-SH

6.51 PM

To: Sherlock

When I say under control, I just mean under control. For God's sake, Sherlock! I'm working here, obviously I can't be on hold, waiting for and replying your bloody texts 24/7. I know you're bored, but please go find something else to do. I don't know. Get John to accompany you for a walk or something!

-GL

6.51 PM

To: Lestrade

So you're sure you don't require assistance? That is a little hard to fathom, what with people like Anderson working in the Scotland Yard. Why would I want to go for a walk? That's as boring as watching paint dry.

-SH

6.52 PM

To: Lestrade

Are you really, really certain there aren't even any cold cases for me to work on?

-SH

6.53 PM

To: Lestrade

Lestrade? Lestraaaaaade?

-SH

* * *

Sherlock stared at the bright screen of his mobile phone for a minute more before, certain that Lestrade wouldn't be replying, carelessly tossing it to the table beside him. Today had been an altogether rather unproductive and wasted day, he thought, rather appalled at his lack of activity. Then again, there had been times when he had lazed around for the entire day, slouching in his chair for hours and not doing anything. Well, such episodes of extreme lethargy had begun to decrease when he had moved in with John. Speaking of which...

He had just opened his mouth to call out for John to ask if he wanted to join him for dinner at Angelo's when he clamped his mouth shut again. He shook his head in disgust. Almost a day without John and he still wasn't used to it? Utterly appalling.

Well, there really was no point in having dinner alone. Sherlock took a bite of the cold, stale toast from yesterday morning, grimaced and plopped it back down onto the plate again. Right. There was no food in the refrigerator and tea was out of question as well since there was they were out of milk (and no, he simply refused to drink tea without milk). Sighing, he flopped back down onto the couch, such that he was now lying horizontally on it. Digestion of food slowed down his thinking anyway, he reminded himself, something he had often told John when they were on a case.

But now there was no case and no John.

As if on cue, a low grumble issued from his traitorous stomach. He glared down at his stomach in the darkness of the room.

"I don't need food," he thought aloud. Or John, he added mentally.

Bloody hell. This was going to be a long four days.


	3. Of Murders and Cosmetics(& Johnlessness)

_Summary: In which Sherlock says something a bit not good, has a row with John, injures himself, gallivants around London solving cases, falls asleep while experimenting and John leaves. Well, but not necessarily in that order._

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**Disclaimer: I ****do**** not own Sherlock BBC or any of its characters. As much as I wish I do, sadly I d****o****n't**_**. **_**I'm just a teenage girl with too much ideas on the brain. **

**Warnings (and apologies of sorts): Nothing worthy to warn you guys of, but be warned of my horrible knowledge of the different places in London because I actually live in Singapore (it's in my profile, peeps!) Gah, can't say too much here without spoiling the story. Just well, sorry in advance to any Londoners and anyone out there so please don't come trying to kill me or anything! **

Just to make things clear...

Words in **bold**: **Text messages**

Words in _italics_: _Main character's (a.k.a Sherlock's) thoughts_

Words in both **bold** and _italics_: _**emphasis/stress on certain words**_

**Author's Note: **Hey guys, really sorry about not updating for so long. It's just that I've been plagued with so many other one-shot plotbunnies (as you can see from some of my newly posted one-shots) and they just won't leave me alone until I wrote something! *sobs* Alright, that's besides the point. So this chapter will hopefully be more action-packed (to you guys). I started writing and it sort of got away from me (AGAIN) so it's kind of too long which is why I've stopped where I've stopped for this chapter. I know it's customary to have one day depicted per chapter but this is really long okay... I mean, LOOK, it's just past noon time and it's already 4k+ words. I think I might die if I wrote the whole day in one go. But have no fear! This is just **PART ONE** of day two that Sherlock has to survive without John.I'll put part two of day two as next chapter! Okay, enough of this ranting...

On with the story, dear readers!

_(26/11/2012 Thanks for some mistakes and pointed out by reviewers! Corrected some continuity problems as of today.)_

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_**Chapter 3**_

**Of Murders and Cosmetics (and Adapting to Johnlessness)**

"Bzzt…"

Sherlock vaguely registered a buzzing sound coming from his left but chose to ignore it, opting to roll over on his side and turn away from that annoying noise (which would hopefully go away in due time).

It did not.

"Bzzt... Bzzt…"

What, were they having a bloody bee symphony now?

_(Sherlock would later find that last thought rather strange but in his current cranky, half-conscious state, it didn't really matter to him.)_

"Oh, for God's sake!"

In one swift motion, he rolled over and groped wildly on the bedside table for the annoying buzzing object (see, his mobile phone). Bleary-eyed, he fumbled with his phone slightly.

Blinking at the glowing screen, his hazy blue-grey-green eyes scanned through the texts quickly.

**5.30 AM**

**To: Sherlock**

**You might be interested to know that there has recently been a dead body found in one of the hotels at Gloucester Place. - GL**

**5.32 AM**

**To: Sherlock**

**Alright, I admit this might be rather inconvenient for you to come down this early in the morning, but this is important. - GL**

Sherlock snorted slightly. He was just about ready to throw his phone back on the table and maybe bury himself in the mound of sheets on his bed when the next text caught his eye.

**5.33 AM**

**To: Sherlock**

**This isn't the first such case. There was a similar case two days ago. It seemed rather unrelated at first but we managed to find a few similarities between these two cases. -GL**

Sherlock's interest was somewhat piqued. It seemed like they might have serial murderer on the loose. Intriguing. It might even take his mind off boredom (and his absent flat mate) for a while. Though he was still rather miffed that Lestrade didn't inform him of the case that happened two days ago. Ah well, he supposed he should go get dressed, seeing as how urgent Lestrade seemed to be making out this case to be (Three texts in three minutes; it must be some sort of record). Untangling himself from the bed sheets, he shrugged out of his dressing gown, all the while texting with one hand.

**5.35 AM**

**To: Lestrade**

**Well, give me details. I do so hate being kept in suspense. –SH**

He was pulling on his shirt when his phone buzzed again.

**5.36 AM**

**To: Lestrade**

**Both victims were found in hotels with numerous red marks on their necks. Right now, we'd say that their cause of death was either strangulation or suffocation. Perhaps the doing of some sort of angry ex-spouse? –GL**

Sherlock rolled his eyes. _**That**_ was the best he could give him? A few details and a half-baked theory? Well, he supposed that was why he had to go down to the crime scene to take a look himself.

_(As always, they see but do not observe.) _

Pulling on his coat, he wrapped his scarf around his neck, firing off a text in reply to a text full of directions to the crime scene that just came in as he made his way out of the flat.

_(He considered taking one of John's jumpers with him to combat the cold and perhaps for comfort as well but decided against it.) _

**5.38 AM**

**To: Lestrade**

**I'll be there in ten minutes. -SH**

The words 'Come on John, we have a case to solve!' almost slipped through his mouth as he detoured to John's bedroom to wake up his absent flat mate, only to be greeted with an empty, made bed. Shaking himself, he quickly hurried out of the flat, hailing down a cab. Rattling off the directions Lestrade had sent him minutes ago, he settled back into the seat, fingers steepled beneath his chin. The cab felt achingly empty and he had to stop himself from turning round to rattle off some detail to his flat mate on several occasions. The cabbie was eyeing him rather warily in the rearview mirror but Sherlock took no notice.

He almost missed John's irrelevant ramblings.

Almost.

* * *

The sky was a bleak, dismal grey as Sherlock stepped out of the cab, greeted by the sight of copious amounts of 'Crime Scene. Do not cross.' tape illuminating the crime scene with their morbidly luminous yellow warnings. The day seemed to grow even more dismal at the sight of one Sergeant Donovan and Anderson outside the hotel, glaring at everyone and anyone who tried to venture past the yellow tape.

_(Oh, just brilliant.) _

Sherlock could already predict what would be the first thing out of Donovan's mouth as he neared the duo.

He was not disappointed.

"Hey Freak, where did the good doctor go off to now?" she sneered, peering slightly behind him as if she expected a John Watson to suddenly materialise from behind his tall, lanky frame.

_(The emptiness he already felt manifested tenfold at that blatant reminder of his absent flat mate but he quickly pushed it aside.) _

Not deigning to reply her, Sherlock weaved past her, lifting the tape above his head as he ducked down, preparing to go into the scene of the crime.

He stopped in his tracks at Anderson's deliberately loud yet seemingly whispered reply, "Probably got tired of the Freak's weird ways and finally decided to go get a proper life."

His hands clenched into fists and his fingernails dug little crescents into his palms at Donovan's answering chuckle, as if it were all a big joke.

"Yeah, you don't suppose he finally decided to get a normal hobby like fishing instead of following the Freak around like a lost dog?"

That was the last straw.

They could insult Sherlock all they wanted and call him a freak or a cold, heartless psychopath all they wished. It didn't matter _(It did.) _But no one, NO ONE insulted John or even treated him with one ounce of respect less than he deserved and got away with it.

So, in a voice so cold it burned, he growled, "A hundred of you two and more can never even hope to be a man like John Watson, so I suggest that when it comes to your opinion on him, you better shut your ignorant, petty mouths."

_(It felt oddly refreshing to be defending his friend instead of the other way round, even if said friend wasn't there to witness it and probably didn't even care for it anyway, considering the angry state he'd left in a day ago.) _

Donovan and Anderson's mouths were hanging slightly open, matching looks of shock on their faces.

_(They probably thought him to be a heartless and cold, incapable of defending his flat mate. It sure looked like they were sorely wrong.) _

Anderson was quick to recover, snapping his mouth shut and sending him an acidic glare. That rolled off his back like water off a smooth stone. It did, after all, come from years of practice and Sherlock's naturally insensitive demeanour to most people's comments/reactions. What he said next, however, did somehow sting.

"Maybe if you cared to show you actually want him around, he wouldn't have run off to hell knows where now. Oh, but I forgot, you're a cold-hearted psychopath who's physically incapable of caring."

_(High-functioning sociopath, his mind supplied half-heartedly, not a psychopath, never a psychopath!) _

Sherlock swallowed slightly before shooting back, coating his voice with a healthy dose of sarcasm, "These insults are getting quite dull. Cold-hearted, weird, freak. How original."

_(Maybe he's right, a tiny voice piped up in his mind, maybe that's why John left, because he was cold and uncaring. Then, with a considerably greater amount of panic, "Maybe John left and was never coming back!" Don't be stupid, Anderson's an idiot, said the logical side of his mind, of course John was coming back. He had to.) _

"Shut up," he muttered to himself.

And of course, that must be the moment when Lestrade chose to stride out of the crime scene.

The inspector shot him a quizzical look at his muttering but asked him to follow him in without any comment.

Sherlock shot Donovan and Anderson a baleful look before disappearing into the hotel in a flurry of black coat and arrogance, the duo reluctantly trailing behind him.

* * *

Sherlock caught Lestrade sneaking him glances in what he obviously thought was indiscreet but actually weren't in the past few minutes as they took the elevator up to the seventh floor (where the crime had taken place).

_(He had quite a good idea as to what questions Lestrade had in mind but endeavoured to ignore the increasingly curious looks sent his way.) _

Unfortunately for him, the Detective Inspector apparently decided to use the direct approach.

"I don't mean to intrude or anything, but I'm just curious as to where did your flat mate go? Did he finally decide to go on a holiday or something?" Lestrade asked with the air of a man who had suppressed his curiosity for far longer than any person should have had to go through.

_(He didn't like the insinuation that John couldn't stand him and had just upped and went, however slight the implication had been and however true it was starting to seem.) _

Finding himself subject to one of Sherlock's less-than-pleasant stares, Lestrade cleared his throat, evidently trying to clarify himself, albeit somewhat defensively, "Well, it's just that ever since the 'Study in Pink' case, I haven't seen you at a crime scene without him by your side or at least without you mentioning him."

_(Why did everyone seem to automatically assume that he couldn't survive a day without John? He'd have them know, he did manage to stay alive for a good many years before John came along.) _

Deciding that the Detective Inspector would most likely not appreciate a 'I can survive without John Watson so sod off' outburst/rant, he settled on a curt "He's away" before launching into questions about the case.

Lestrade tactfully dropped the matter, filling Sherlock in on the details of the case instead.

* * *

Sherlock bent down, long fingers flitting here and there like pale butterflies as he twisted the deceased woman's head this way and that, examining the corpse with a critical eye.

_(Blonde. Mid-thirties. Formal dress, most likely office worker. Expensive jewellery, most likely a gift. Her clothing is well worn and faded, not enough money for new ones so she probably didn't use her own money to buy them. Are they a gift from her husband? But judging from the state of her ring, no. Unsatisfied with marriage; trying to impress a lover then? Also highly unlikely, considering she had children and her general state of haggardness. So, jewellery is a gift, but perhaps from a friend with benefits or a colleague.) _

He was just about to move onto determining the cause and motive of this murder case when he heard the rather noisy entrance of two persons. Namely, Donovan and Anderson.

"You're not seriously letting him contaminate the crime scene, are you?"

Sherlock gritted his teeth at Anderson's whispered comment to Lestrade but continued with his examination of the body. Bloody idiots. If anyone was contaminating the crime scene, it would be the bunch of amateurs they called forensic scientists in the Scotland Yard.

_(So. Red marks on neck. Strangulation? Not likely. The bruising was rather superficial so the force applied was probably not enough to strangle the victim. Say the assailant grabbed her from behind. Applied just enough force to immobilise her, then –) _

"He was at least borderline tolerable and less freakish when the doctor was around to shower him with compliments. Well, he'd better not be expecting any from us," Donovan seethed.

Sherlock whipped his head around, shooting a cold stare in her direction. He was vaguely aware of Lestrade sending his officer a disapproving look. Good. At least someone on the force had _**some **_sense that he was not to be disturbed when he was doing the Work. He turned his attention back to the prone body on the ground.

Fuelled slightly by his rising annoyance, his train of thoughts careened forward at a faster speed.

_(Probably asphyxiation. Hand over mouth. Explained the smeared lipstick. Next, identity of murder? Hefty build, judging by deep indent of carpet fibres. Faint lingering smell of sweat and men's cologne points to murderer being a male.) _

He raised his head, opening his mouth to ask for John's opinion on the cause of death but snapped it shut almost immediately. Shaking his head, he straightened up, surveying the rest of the crime scene.

_(Luggage is small with few sets of clothing and necessities. Haphazardly packed. Suggested it was done in a hurry. Running away from something or someone then. Didn't want to be found so… Trouble with family? Unlikely. Two average teenage kids and an unhappy marriage with spouse unaware so real threat not from husband. Trouble from work? Maybe she had seen or known something she shouldn't have.) _

"Did you manage to find her purse?" Sherlock asked curtly, eyes still roaming around the crime scene as his mind raced ahead to piece together the puzzle.

_(If this act of murder was to silence her, it all made sense now. Jewellery was probably a bribery of sorts to keep her quiet but maybe she let slip something so murderer, probably a hired thug, was sent to keep her quiet for good. Killer most likely a hired hand; these office worker types always liked to keep their own hands clean.)_

"Uh, I hate to ask, but exactly what purse are you talking about, Sherlock?" Lestrade replied with a question of his own, "There wasn't any purse found on her person."

"Her purse. It should have been in her skirt pocket. The material on the inner side of the pocket is well-worn and chaffed; there was something she often put there and took out. Her phone is in her blouse pocket so obviously the thing left that was in her skirt pocket could've only been her purse. So where is it?" Sherlock all but snarled, a slew of rapid-fire words issuing from his mouth as he explained in a rather impatient manner.

This time, Anderson cut in, "There _**is**_ no purse. I've personally searched the body and room myself."

Sherlock growled, a deep sound of warning and extreme vexation ready to be unleashed on the world emitting from his lips. If there was one thing worse than an incompetent fool, it was an incompetent fool who thought himself competent. He whirled on Lestrade, a wild, furious look in his eyes.

"You let that idiot search the scene and contaminate it with Lord knows what?"

Lestrade looked rather uncomfortable pinned under Sherlock's intense, accusing stare, especially since this Sherlock had no army doctor to rein him in.

"Well, yes. You did take your time to reach the scene and we thought we'd do a quick search ourselves," the Detective Inspector replied somewhat defensively, eyeing the consulting detective warily.

_(Idiots. Sodding idiots.) _

At that moment, Sherlock was nearly ready to pull his entire mop of dark curls out of their place on his head. This time, there would be no sandy-haired doctor with the calm words to tell him "Keep calm, Sherlock. They are idiots for doing whatever they did but no need to get all worked up".

_(He felt almost sorry for the verbal abuse he was about to unleash on them. 'Almost' being the key word.) _

"Fools," Sherlock spat out, "And you call yourselves experts. Now any other relevant, potential evidence would have been trampled under your feet! The purse was probably lost as you traipsed around the crime scene like schoolchildren!"

Now, logically there was a high possibility that the hired murderer had been thorough, taking the purse so the police force could not track exactly where the victim had worked at (by looking at the business card in the purse) and trace back to person who had commandeered this whole murder in the first place. Even so, he could always glean some information from the victim's phone later on. But right now, he was really rather pissed at the incompetent fool (see, Anderson) and the general stupidity of the Yard _(and why wasn't John here to take all this anger away?). _What he had said was probably true but evidently, a certain Detective Inspector thought otherwise.

Which was why he had been 'evicted' from the crime scene with a few choice words from a rather offended inspector and a smug-looking Donovan and said incompetent fool. Lestrade had, amidst his yelling and general pissed-as-hell state, turned out to be brighter than he was given credit for. He had promised that he'll 'text you all the details of this and the crime scene from two days ago later' as he pushed Sherlock out into the chilly street, apparently not wanting to deal with Sherlock in all his insulting-officer, army-doctor-less glory for the time being.

Evidently, his outburst had been 'a bit not good', as John would have put it.

_(Sherlock thought somewhat bitterly that if John had been there, he would possibly have shown more self-restraint and would not have gotten his arse kicked out from the crime scene. However, his flat mate hadn't been there and look where that had gotten him.) _

* * *

It had really been quick thinking and less-than-horrible pickpocketing skills on his part that he managed to sneak out the victim's smartphone from under the nose of Scotland Yard (see, a ranting Lestrade, one smirking Donovan and one idiotic Anderson). Now, as he slouched in his favourite armchair in his flat, Sherlock idly flicked through the various messages and applications in the victim's mobile phone. For the past few hours while waiting from news from Lestrade, these were the things he'd gleaned:

The victim spent an awful amount of time on social networking media (see, Facebook, Twitter and the likes).

The last message the victim sent was to her husband, saying, 'I'll be going away on business for a few days. Take care of the kids and make sure Katherine eats her veggies even if she doesn't want to."

A brief check through the history of the Internet browser showed that the victim often visited YouTube for videos on cooking tutorials. (Likely that victim was either a) an avid fan of cooking or b) horrible at cooking and needed help)

The victim had a rather large array of games on her phone. Downloaded by her children, most likely, seeing as she would be otherwise occupied with work.

The victim apparently had a great penchant for classical music as her music library was chocked full of music ranging from Mozart to Beethoven.

The list could go on with all the mundane details of the deceased woman's life. Whichever detail Sherlock deemed irrelevant and useless, however, were quickly deleted from his mind palace. He was rather satisfied that he was now armed with the necessary details about the victim, mostly from her accounts and interaction with others on social media sites. The deceased woman, one Mrs Florence Jones, worked in a (as he suspected) cosmetics company by the name of Lavena Cosmetics. From what he saw, she was a rather loose-lipped person, unafraid to voice out her opinions on all sorts of social media platforms. It was little wonder why she was 'silenced' by whoever thought she was exposing too much information.

Sherlock leaned back into the couch, an arm thrown over his closed eyes to shield himself from the sunlight steadily streaming in.

"Bzzt…"

_(Ahh… Finally.) _

Sherlock lunged forward, grabbing his phone off the table with something like anticipation and glee dancing in his blue-grey-green eyes. It had been rather boring to trawl through all the boring details in the phone, especially more so with no John to complain to.

**9.50 AM**

**To: Sherlock**

**Sorry about that outburst just now but really, do try not to insult the entire police force the next time I call you down to help out with the investigations. Anyway, I'll be sending you the pictures of the crime scene from two days ago. See if you can find any connection between the two of the cases. -GL**

Sherlock snorted slightly at the first line. Not insult the entire police force? It was hardly his fault that most of them were incompetent and tended to not see the obvious even if the evidence was right in their faces. The next few texts came, as promised, with photographs of the case two days ago. The victim in question was a man in his mid-forties, hair already dusted with a smattering of grey.

_(Well-dressed, formal clothes, another office worker. Haphazardly packed luggage. So far_ _similar to the Florence Jones case. Victim is single, judging by his lack of concern for his hygiene and creased clothing. So, unlikely that the motive for his murder was love. Greying hair, creases and wrinkles on his face indicate stress on some level as well, frowning a lot recently. Something's been worrying or frightening him so he ran away? Red marks around the neck, ah, slight marks over his mouth and nose area. Asphyxiation like the deceased woman then. It's looking more and more likely that it's –)_

"Bzzt…"

"For God's sake, what now?"

Sherlock grabbed the phone he left lying on his stomach, glancing disinterestedly at the screen.

**10.00 AM**

**To: Sherlock**

**Do you happen to know anything about what happened to the deceased woman's phone that you mentioned at the scene a couple of hours ago? It seems to be missing. -GL**

Sherlock let out a slight huff of laughter. He was tempted to tell the Detective Inspector that no, the victim's mobile phone was not missing as he had, in fact, been using it to surf the Internet just moments ago. However, he thought that the man probably wouldn't take that very well.

Fingers dancing swiftly on his phone, he quickly sent a text to Lestrade.

**10.03 AM**

**To: Lestrade**

**No, I don't recall seeing it either. Did any of those incompetent forensic scientists find any sort of identification on the man's body? -SH**

**10.15 AM**

**To: Sherlock**

**Bloody hell, the woman's phone would have shed some light on whom she was and where she worked at. Now it's gone. Sod it. Alright, never mind. Yeah (no need for that, what did I say about insults?) we did find some identification on the body. I'm sending you a picture of the man's business cards and a bunch of other cards in his wallet now. -GL**

_(Well, it seemed that the killer had been rather careless the first time, leaving the wallet at the crime scene. It looked like he wised up the second time, but stupidly left the victim's phone behind. Oh, the brilliance of criminals these days. But then again, the killer was probably a hired hand and Lord knew how hard it was to get good hired help these days.)_

Exactly three minutes and thirty-eight seconds later (yes, he'd been so bored that he had been keeping track), his phone buzzed, receiving photographs containing the various personal particulars of the deceased man.

_(Aha! The man worked as a sales consultant at Lavena's Cosmetics. Things were falling into place now. Both victims worked in the same company, so it would only make sense to start there. Find out what exactly was the information leak if the cause was indeed that and more importantly, if there were any other employees out there still in danger of being targeted.) _

But first, research. Only a fool would rush into the fray without any information on his opponent.

It seemed that he was finally growing more accustomed to not having John around because his brain actually managed to stop his mouth from opening and calling out, "Pass me the laptop, John!" (and when he said 'the laptop', he actually meant John's).

_(Frankly, Sherlock didn't know whether to feel accomplished or to feel guilty for getting used to his flat mate's absence, however slow progress may be. But then again, it may be a good thing. It simply won't do to always have John's name on the tip of his tongue every time he needed something.) _

John had, obviously, taken his laptop with him on his visit to his sister's, so Sherlock had to go to all the trouble of going into his own room and digging his laptop out from the mound of discarded experiments on the bedroom floor.

Grumbling slightly, he plopped back onto the couch, laptop propped up by his knees as he fired off another text to Lestrade.

**10.24 AM**

**To: Lestrade**

**If convenient, get all the information and records and anything vaguely incriminating about Lavena Cosmetics for the past decade. -SH**

Then, as if as an afterthought:

**10.24 AM**

**To: Lestrade**

**If inconvenient, find the information all the same. -SH**

* * *

Sometime after what normal people would consider lunchtime, after much searching on the Internet, Sherlock found a six year old news scandal regarding Lavena Cosmetics. Apparently, several of their customers complained that after using their skin care products, they had gotten quite a bad case of rash and subsequently, fever and chills as well. It had blown up to rather large proportions and despite much denial on the company's part, their spokesman was forced to deliver an public apology to the customers and the company had to recall all such products, also having to shower the affected customers with vouchers, coupons and the likes to save whatever scrap of dignity the company had left.

After huge efforts from the company owner and perhaps some bribing of the media personnel, the company's reputation seemed to have been salvaged. However, two years ago, the company's owner, Mr Harrison, had retired, passing on the mantle to his twenty-four year old son.

_(So, Lavena's cosmetics had had a history of not exactly having the most squeaky-clean reputation. There could be a possibility that something similar had happened. The much younger and brasher company owner might have taken drastic measures to ensure that news of another tainted product did not escalate into a full-blown scandal. But there was no use theorising without evidence and solid facts, not to mention how dangerous it was to do so.) _

Sherlock briefly contemplated telling Lestrade of this latest development but shuddered slightly at the mental image of the Scotland Yard officers barging into Mr Harrison's office, guns blazing and holding out a search warrant. Decidedly, a more subtle approach was necessary if he wanted any positive results to come out of the visit. He was certain 'subtle' usually had the connotation of generally not being an idiot, not blatantly telling the purposes of your visit and certainly not asking to search someone's office for incriminating, tainted products. All of which Sherlock was rather convinced were qualities lacking in the officers of the Yard.

_(A solo visit then, Sherlock thought, but cringed slightly at how odd that sounded. Solo. Alone. He'd been used to that in the past but ever since he'd moved into 221B with John, it had been Sherlock-and-John, or John-and-Sherlock, never simply 'Sherlock'. Up until now.) _

"Get a grip of yourself," he muttered to himself, feeling vaguely irked at himself, "You've been taking cases yourself for God knows how long and solved numerous single-handedly. One more means nothing."

_(It did feel different, somehow. Like something was missing or out of place.) _

But Sherlock, being Sherlock, simply willed himself to not feel these 'petty sentiments'. The Work took precedence over everything.

He pretended not to hear the tiny voice in his mind that asked "Even John?" _(because really, he knew exactly who he would choose in a heartbeat, as surely as he knew a stranger's life story from the tiniest and most paltry of details.) _

* * *

Well, that's all for PART ONE of Day Two without John Watson. Part Two soon to come. Uh, it actually depends on how much time I can squeeze out. Between badminton training and homework, it's not a lot but I will do my best to update as soon as possible! (Hopefully, that means next week) I know there's probably quite a couple of spelling/grammatical errors; I apologise for it! I'd do a thorough beta for this tomorrow! Alright, thanks for reading and don't forget to drop a review!

Me: Reviews totally make my day.

Brain: (points accusing finger at me)

Me: What? I'm not hinting or suggesting anything...

Brain: (braindesks)

Oops. Seems like some of my real-life craziness is seeping into my writing. Sorry! Remember to stay tuned for the next chapter!

Cheers,

Rainflower


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